stuffy nose mojo
only when you’re sick do you
get forty playdates
The wee one has had The Dreaded Funk for the past few days (though he hasn’t had it too bad). So we’ve been trying to lay low a bit. I had the brilliant idea of going out to buy "crafty stuff." Now, I’m not a terribly crafty person by nature. I try, but it just turns out crappy. And then I get bored and lazy and I stop cleaning up after myself… and well, crafty stuff just ends up making a mess.
Anyway, I went out and bought some crafty stuff for the wee one – construction paper, yarn, scissors, glue, glitter, modeling clay, watercolors, markers, feathers, squiggly eyeballs, little pom pom things, etc. The idea was for him to sit quietly and create magnificent crafty things while I wrote a little bit and administered snotty nose medication when said snotty nose required it. Simple enough.
Well. As we speak, it looks like a fucking fairy exploded in my kitchen. There is glitter everywhere. Glitter on the floor. Glitter on the wall. Glitter INSIDE the wee one’s nose. Glitter INSIDE the bread bag. Glitter on my table. Glitter on the dog.
There are also eyeballs everywhere. I just went to go to the bathroom and as soon as I sat on the toilet, I saw a beady little eye staring up at me from the floor. Strategically placed underneath the eye was a small piece of red yarn. This created a kind of sinister bathroom floor frowning person staring up at me while I peed. It looked at me as if to say, "You are a moron." If the bathroom floor frowning person had had a finger it would have waggled it at me.
I don’t know what I was thinking. If am a perfectly (sort of) capable 29-year-old woman who can barely clean up after her own damn self, what did I think was going to happen when my spawn got hold of crafty things?
We are swimming in yarn. Drowning in construction paper pieces. Breathing in glitter. Our fingers are glued together. I have a pom pom glued to my foot. The dog just ate a feather.
But you know what? The wee one is quiet. He’s having a blast – quietly. His face is scrunched in concentration as he tries to snip tiny pieces of yarn and then glue them all into one long string again. Maybe this is a three-year-old’s meditation tactic. I have no idea. But I love it. Love. It.
So huzzah for Crafty Things and exploding fairies. They work way better than Benadryl. Now I just hope my hubby has a plan for cleaning this mess up. I think we may have to burn the house down.